Chapter 22

The cat held her spine, and only then did she stop…

From the first day she obtained this killing tool, she had never seen any intense expression appear on his face, let alone emotion. He truly seemed like an object, like a thoughtless animal. This was a pity for such a pretty face—like painting a dragon without dotting its eyes.

But she also didn’t like seeing him in distress. The few times he had shown discomfort before, it was always restrained, silent, and docile, making her feel so sorry for him. Zhao Rongzhang didn’t want to sympathize or pity him—it made her feel like a despotic tyrant. Although she had indeed been bullying him all along.

She liked seeing him dazed and confused by her doting, both shy and wanton, writing characters on her arm, looking pure and adorable.

However, now seeing him angry, furious, and resentful, she found it even more amusing. A mute, no longer restraining himself, no longer docile and silent—this made him seem like a person, and not an ordinary one at that. After all, she had never seen anyone dare to flare up at her like this.

Zhao Rongzhang, half-draped in her robe, crouched down to gaze at him, her eyes filled with amusement.

“Don’t just cry. What are you angry about? Say it.”

Guan Xuan was so furious and heartbroken he felt like dying. She knew he was mute, knew he couldn’t speak, yet still demanded he speak—deliberately humiliating him. She never treated him like a person. In her eyes, he was only amusing and laughable.

Guan Xuan’s chest heaved violently, his heart feeling choked. Not only had he never been this angry in his life, but he had also never been this heartbroken. Resisting, he turned his shoulder away, wanting to curl up again.

The Princess’s fingertips reached out, and Guan Xuan tilted his face to avoid them. With every movement, the boiling blood in his body churned, clouding his consciousness. He wanted to leave, but even getting up was difficult. Besides, what would leaving accomplish? Who would the Princess play with if he left? Propping himself up, he bit his lower lip until it bled. The saltiness of his tears and the metallic sweetness of blood mixed on his tongue, unable to suppress the bitterness of the medicine.

The Princess’s hand still reached out, grabbing the two fingers he had just used to jab fiercely at his chest. He hated her so much in that moment that he immediately pulled his hand away, turning his face completely away, his back to her.

Just like a sulking puppy.

Zhao Rongzhang thought he looked quite cute like this, but if he kept throwing a tantrum, she didn’t have the patience to coax him. She patted his bulging arm muscles and said languidly, “If you won’t say it, I’ll go find someone who can.”

Just as the Princess was about to stand up, Little Mute turned his dark, glistening eyes toward her, tears falling even harder, almost with grief and indignation. He clawed at his chest, indicating “me,” then made a grasping motion toward her, indicating “you.” Using his palm instead of his finger to point was still a gesture of respect toward her. After gesturing for a while, Little Mute finally sobbed out, “You made me feel so awful.”

Zhao Rongzhang had already mostly figured it out—Old Yu had misunderstood her meaning, mistakenly thinking her bed partner was incapable and had prescribed the opposite kind of medicine. Little Mute was already prone to excess vitality, and after drinking a thick bowl of aphrodisiac, of course he would be driven to the brink. But what was the big deal? Setting aside the motive, even if she had deliberately drugged him, she wouldn’t have let his qi and blood reverse, watching him die. This was just a means to spice things up.

Zhao Rongzhang once again grabbed his fingers. Little Mute struggled but couldn’t break free. Zhao Rongzhang rubbed his fingertips twice before letting go, then moved her hand toward his chest. The area there was already red and swollen from her poking.

“Alright, I never saw you cry like this even when you were seriously injured. It’s fine to be upset, but haven’t there been plenty of times worse than this?” Zhao Rongzhang massaged the spot for him, her palm moving from his chest to his back. Her other arm wrapped around his neck, pulling him into her embrace.

How could she possibly understand his pain? She only knew how to toy with him, cared only about her own amusement—of course she would think this level of suffering was nothing. Guan Xuan hated her, hated her intensely. Even as she held him against her chest, he kept crying. Just so she could feel pleasure, just to squeeze more essence from him, she treated him like this—how could he not be heartbroken? He wasn’t truly an inanimate object. But these words could never be spoken to her. Even with the slightest shred of clarity, he knew it was only right that he existed for her amusement—his life was just that worthless.

Yet no matter how clear-headed he became, his hatred for the Princess would never change. The Princess was his fate, and he hated fate. Once anger was ignited, the heart could never remain forever calm. From then on, he would always want to ask: Am “I” not a person? Why can’t “I” be a person?

Zhao Rongzhang wore a faint smile as she watched his awkward, reluctant movements to straighten up. His face showed unwillingness, his mouth still held anger—so why was his body so obedient? She sat leaning to one side, cradling him in her arms, pressing his forehead against the side of her neck.

“Silly cat, if you think about what I said to Imperial Physician Yu this morning, you should be able to figure out—he gave the wrong prescription.”

By now, Guan Xuan had cried himself into a daze, the flow of his tears slowing. The Princess patted his back muscles, stroked his face, then seemed to dislike the tears covering her hand and flicked her fingertips. She sighed helplessly, “I almost started to believe you were clever.”

Guan Xuan’s entire body burned, but his heart burned hottest of all. What had the Princess said to Imperial Physician Yu? He hadn’t been listening at the time.

“Let me have my fun first. If it doesn’t work, I’ll have someone brew an antidote.” Zhao Rongzhang pressed her thigh against his knee, rubbed his neck, and was about to settle over him.

Guan Xuan still wanted to push her away—he didn’t want this. After resisting only a couple of times, the Princess pinned down his arms as well and proceeded to use him without another word. She had long been itching for this—how could she let him refuse? A few coaxing words were already the height of her patience.

Under the influence of the drug, his body grew so feverish it felt like it might catch fire. Guan Xuan hadn’t finished being angry, hadn’t been comforted enough, yet now he was inexplicably pinned down and played with by the domineering Princess again. He didn’t want to be pinned—how was her pressing down on him now any different from increasing his dosage? The two drops of rain that fell only intensified his craving.

He pushed a couple of times, but that only made her more enthusiastic.

Soon, Guan Xuan—both body and mind—was thrown into complete disarray, played with until he felt close to death.

Over the course of more than an hour, the Princess brought herself to climax three or five times, thoroughly exhausted. There was plenty of fluid, but his skin temperature was quite high—after a few rubs, it all dried up, as if absorbed. Covered in sweat, the Princess held the still-suffering Little Mute, too tired to speak. Even accounting for the drug’s effects, not tiring once over such a long time was still excessive. It seemed he was still sulking inside.

Zhao Rongzhang’s legs felt weak and damp. Reaching the bedside, she collapsed onto the bed, wearily pulling the bell cord to have Ming Luo brew the medicine. She couldn’t actually let this little killing tool die like this.

After delivering the message, Zhao Rongzhang’s fan-waving hand gradually slowed until she drifted into a drowsy sleep.

When she awoke, more than two hours had passed, and the sun was nearly setting. Feeling sticky all over, Zhao Rongzhang first ordered water to be brought in for a bath. Ming Luo brought in some fragrant melon for her to enjoy while bathing. As the melon was placed on the table, Zhao Rongzhang noticed a medicine bowl there and remembered she had forgotten to give Little Mute the antidote.

Where had he gone?

Just as she was wondering, a dull thud echoed from some corner, loud enough for even the palace maids to hear, causing them to look up in unison. Frowning, Zhao Rongzhang dismissed them all.

Stepping out of the bathtub, Zhao Rongzhang dried herself off and called out for the cat. By the time she had dried herself from head to toe, the cat still hadn’t appeared. Following her intuition, she walked toward the shadows in the hall, tilting her head to search. After looking around twice and calling out several times, the cat remained nowhere to be seen. It was as if she were genuinely searching for a cat—if the cat ignored her, she could search to the ends of the earth and still not find it.

Growing annoyed, Zhao Rongzhang picked up a comb and irritably ran it through her hair. After a while, she suddenly noticed the oddly shaped evening sunlight falling behind the dressing table. Following the direction of the light, she looked up and saw a beautifully shaped head with a slightly rounded skull nestled in the corner between the golden square wood and the crossbeam of the ceiling. The cat was lying there, asleep. The golden evening sunlight bathed his fair, rosy face, and his gentle brows and eyes contrasted sharply with the fierce fangs carved on his mask, creating a strikingly awkward and incongruous sight.

Zhao Rongzhang had never seen a cat like this before.

She stared for a long while before raising her voice: “Guan Xuan.”

Guan Xuan showed no reaction. Zhao Rongzhang threw the jade comb in her hand toward him. It missed but struck the wooden beam, shattering into two pieces before falling and breaking into many smaller fragments. Amid the successive sounds, the shadow of his eyelashes fluttered slightly on the young man’s face. Before he was fully awake, his fingers had already tightened around his wrist guard.

Zhao Rongzhang called out again: “Guan Xuan. Come down and drink the medicine.”

The cat opened a slit of his eyes, the fragmented light shimmering within them as it drifted toward her. The fingers gripping the wrist guard relaxed again, but he didn’t come down immediately. Zhao Rongzhang watched this, pursing her lips.

The cat gazed drowsily at the Princess. Though she wore no makeup, her features grew more striking in their simplicity. Yet her demeanor was the opposite—even in light clothing that hinted at her skin and curves, she remained as cold as a sword. For someone like the Princess, harboring even a trace of impure thoughts toward her was a sin. He treaded on thin ice at the edge of this sin.

Fearing he might fall asleep again, Zhao Rongzhang said coldly, “I told you to come down. Do you dare disobey?”

The cat shook his head at her, his consciousness still hazy. But he truly didn’t want to come down.

Zhao Rongzhang suspected the medicine had addled his brain and issued an ultimatum: “Even if you have to roll, get down here.”

Guan Xuan felt dizzy and raised his palm to rub his brow.

Zhao Rongzhang’s expression grew colder. If he absolutely refused to come down, it seemed there was little she could do. The place was too high for her to climb, and she had no intention of trying. She was a Princess—what Princess would climb up and down? She would never forsake her dignity as a Princess for him, nor would she risk herself to save him.

If he were truly a cat, it would be easier—she could lure him down with a fish or something amusing. But he was not, and for a moment, Zhao Rongzhang couldn’t think of anything he liked.

Food? None. Playthings? None. Unlike her, this foolish cat seemed to have no desires at all.

Zhao Rongzhang took two steps closer, the setting sun stretching her shadow long as the cat’s dazed gaze followed her. She clenched the fabric at her side, paused, and opened her arms toward him. “Come down.”

The cat lowered his hands, resting them on the beam, his round eyes fixed unblinkingly on her, his gaze lingering between her outstretched arms and her chest.

Zhao Rongzhang thought, if he didn’t come down in three breaths, she’d leave him be, turn around and walk away, and have someone come in tomorrow to collect his body. Who was this difficult to coax? So dull and foolish, only hearing half of what was said. Not even useful enough, lasting too long, refusing to overflow. In this sweltering heat, he insisted on being held tightly, with constant praise whispered in his ear. Now, holding him was useless, praising him was useless—if he wasn’t happy, could nothing go her way? Thinking it over carefully, it was truly unreasonable.

Zhao Rongzhang was growing angrier by the moment, but the cat watched her, slowly blinking his eyes. The hues of the setting sun deepened, and even this cold sword seemed to take on a hint of warmth. Guan Xuan wondered if it was his illusion. Was all of this his illusion?

Even if it was an illusion, so be it.

Guan Xuan let his body’s weight slide from the beam, watching her draw closer and closer. The princess’s expression shifted quickly and subtly in those few breaths, so vividly real. This didn’t seem like an illusion.

Zhao Rongzhang was startled—such a large, solid figure, how could he really fall so foolishly? She tried to pull her arms back and dodge, but the foolish cat’s eyes flickered, as if truly awakening. Just before landing, the air around them suddenly stabilized. The cat still landed in her arms, with enough force to send her stumbling back two steps. Only when the cat cupped her back did she steady herself.

The cat buried his face against the side of her neck, his long fingers gently gripping her shoulders. His forehead was burning hot, even hotter than before. Zhao Rongzhang’s arms, which she hadn’t managed to retract, instinctively settled on his back.